Kuroneko Hates Me, I Swear It
by Cabbitshivers
Summary: VxW -AU- Knives has vanished, and Wolfwood's soul is refusing to be lain to rest. What is Vash to do?
1. Prologue

** KURONEKO HATES ME, I SWEAR IT **

A Trigun Fanfiction 

By Cabbitshivers

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_ Prologue_

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The horizon was pregnant with the sandstorm. 

Shiny grains of rock, worn smooth by countless years of wind erosion streaked their way across the sky, blurring the late afternoon blue above, creating a reddish halo around the smallest of the suns that hovered low in the sky. The storm had been building for hours, the wind steadily becoming more fierce and demanding as it travelled over the bare plains of Gunsmoke, gathering up the deserts in its greedy fingers, ready to slam it all into the buildings of the first city to stand in its way.

Its name was December.

From the city with its newly built walls and heavy iron gates, the sandstorm looked to be only a mere blurring of the horizon. A faint pinkish smudge in the distance. Experience had taught the inhabitants of Gunsmoke's towns and cities however, that the giant walls of sand pushed by the tempestuous winds that often raged on the face of the planet approached a great deal faster than they appeared to. Which was why, when the storm had first been sighted not five minutes before, the gates were now kissing each others edges with quiet, cloth-padded _whump's_. The men who had attended to the gates at either end of the city made certain that they were securely fastened to each other and would not be forced open by the violent gusts of wind. They checked twice, carefully thorough. Once satisfied, they swiftly hurried their ways to their homes, where the rest of their families were waiting already after having responded to the signal bell that had sounded upon the storms detection.

Outside of the city walls, the whistling of the winds began to rise, as the sky above steadily darkened.

Inside of the city one of the gate attendants pushed open the front door of his home where the windows had been quickly boarded up, breathing heavily from his rush to reach it before the storm did. He closed it behind him, making sure to secure it tightly against the wind. There were lanterns burning in the corners of the main room, left unattended, but the man paid them no heed as he passed through the room and into another through a small, narrow door. Within this other room was a rumpled bed, two women and a single burning lamp. One of the women sat beside the bed, holding the hand of the other as she lay amongst the twisted sheets, amber-lit face dotted with sweat and swollen belly straining against her bedclothes. The worried look on the second woman's face lifted as she glimpsed the man who had entered, and she reached out with her other hand, pulling him over to the bedside.

"It's time." The first woman said as she patted the other's hand comfortingly. She gently dropped her hand down onto the sheets, and then stood up from the chair. She took her place kneeling at the end of the bed just as a grimace of pain twisted the face of the man, and the woman on the bed lurched up, squeezing his hand viciously as she hunched over her distended belly, groaning.

"That's a good girl." The first woman said, pushing apart the others knees and hiking up her nightdress. "Keep pushing. Don't forget to breathe."

The woman bearing down managed a pained laugh as her body continued to push hard through the agony.

"Have no choice." She gritted out. "Body's making me."

The first woman smiled at the second. "I know." She looked down. "Almost there. The baby's crowning. Keep pushing."

The man grunted in pain from beside the bed. The other woman continued to groan. 

"The head is almost free."

Outside the wind picked up, and the whistling turned to a shriek. The largest sun glowed an angry violent red before the darkness of the walls of sand obscured it completely, and the storm fell upon the city. It raged at the walls that held firm against its sandy fists, and it tried to tear the kissing gates apart but they still stayed firmly pressed together. It dropped its gathered deserts over the roofs and streets of the city, but did not intrude too much upon them. The storm roared in its fury, and it was so loud that it failed to perceive the smaller, less powerful cry that suddenly arose to mock its own, then as suddenly fell away as arms that were not of sand and wind gathered the screaming newborn to its mother's chest, and caused it to calm.

Hours later the storm left the city behind to the night, continuing to twist and surge on its way, completely ignorant of what had happened beneath its arms and garments of wind and sand. 

For in the sunset hours a child had been born. A boy. And his name was Nicholas.

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End Prologue.


	2. Dreams and Ghosts

**KURONEKO HATES ME, I SWEAR IT**

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_Chapter One_

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Out of the dusky-hued skies and billowing clouds, like dewdrops they fell. Flaming tails and twisting spirals of dark smoke following behind them like the rats trailed after the piper, heading and dancing down to their deaths. In their surfaces the reflections of the horizon spun, twirling faster and faster as the ground beneath them rose up to greet the falling seed ships.

The emerald green eyes watched in a kind of horrified fascination as the moment the first ship hit seemed to extend onwards to forever. The crumpling of the nose happened as if each deepening bend took minutes to crease, hours to fully fold. It happened too slowly, yet in truth the entire decimation of the first seed ship couldn't have taken more than ten seconds. The fireball that tore free from the mirror-hull, shredding the skin of the ship as though it were the flimsiest of papers, and spraying its innards all across the landscape, rose so high into the odd-coloured sky, that it kissed the nose of the second ship and swallowed the first half of the hull in its swelling reds, blacks and oranges.

The green eyes had to close against the sudden shock of wind and searing heat that ran as fast as it could from the collapsing mess of the flaming ship. The lashes that garnished them curling up tight against the lids as the concussion finally reached him, blowing him over and rolling him in the sand. His vision was blurred, his green eyes filled with the grit that seemed to cover the planet and swallowed up the dieing ships as they lurched and gave into their demise, the air giving berth to their final, long-lasting screams.

The tears washed the green eyes clear… Clear enough for their owner to realise that he had been dreaming, and that his fire had gone out, and that he was cold.

His stomach grumbled.

And hungry, too.

Slowly, as though his body were tired and worn and riddled with time's passing, he uncurled himself and sat up. The sand felt uncomfortable beneath him. Even with his change of position, the sand had retained most of the shape it had held of him as he had slept, and now that he was sitting up his rear didn't fit into the impression quite so well. He shifted a little, wiggling himself deeper into its coolness, and looked out over the desert.

Three of the five Moons were out, and they lit the surface of the sands with enough light to see clearly for iles. When all five Moons were out, the light could almost rival that cast by the twin stars that the planet circled. Three Moons were enough this night, however. Vash's green eyes hurt from the constant searching he had been doing over the last year, and from the crying in his dream, that any more light would have pained them more than he could handle.

"The night is uneasy." A voice said from beside him. Vash turned and calmly regarded the spectral figure sitting at his side. For a moment he locked eyes with the being, then turned back and regarded the horizon once more. It was partially out of habit, and yet another part out of disquiet that he turned his eyes elsewhere. Being constantly on the lookout for his wayward brother or any signs of his passing had him dragging his gaze all over the place, never, or at least very rarely, allowing them to settle on the same thing more than twice. Also, and he shuddered in revulsion at himself, he was still not used to the ability to see through one of his closest friends. Or nor was he yet, used to the disheartening fact that his transparent friend was dead.

Out of the corner of his wandering eye he noticed the movement of his companion beside him. Vash was aware that his refusal to hold the others gaze for any length of time pained his friend, and often, as he was doing now, he would draw himself in close, resting ghostly arms on drawn up ghostly knees, and pretend to bring a cigarette up to his lips that no longer truly existed. Vash was well used to the guilt now that accompanied these small, insecure motions that the other made, but being the slight masochist that he was, he focussed in on each pang and dwelled within its stagnation for as long as he could. The other would often berate him for such morose practises, but Vash would just respond that it was his fault the other was dead, and that he could dwell on it all he wanted. The spectre would usually then scoff at him, and inform him that his smile would never be real if he kept that up…

Vash sighed, and pretended not to notice when he caught in his peripheral vision his friend begin to chew on his lower lip. It was a habit he'd only just begun to notice over the course of the past three months, something that had started to appear more often as the motions to smoke a cigarette had gradually petered away only to rear their heads when the ghost was nervous or agitated. That both were in use at the moment could only allude to the spirit feeling more hurt and frustrated than usual. Also, he could not ignore the slight chilling of the air around him, nor the steadily dropping pressure that set off a dull ringing sound in his ears.

"Yes, it is." Vash finally replied. He inhaled deeply, and then let it out in a more audible sigh. "I had a dream."

The pressure lifted slightly, enough to quell the ringing, and the air heated just ever so faintly against the side of his face. "A nightmare, Vash."

"Yes, well… they happen sometimes."

"All the time, tongari." The air continued to grow warmer. Beneath the words Vash could hear him say; '_Please don't lie to me._'

Vash could say nothing to that. He didn't like lying, he tried his hardest not to do it, but omitting large parts of the truth was something he was guilty of doing more times than what could be counted. Nicholas knew it, too. Many times he had caught him out midst-omission, chastising him for the attempts, saying he was horrendously bad at it. He'd state that it was his eyes that gave him away, and the emptiness of his smile. Vash didn't know if it was true or not, but no one else had ever caught him out so cleanly, or so quickly, as Wolfwood ever had. Sometimes, Vash had entertained the thought that Nicholas could read minds, but then that assumption would be dashed to dust when his friend would go and do something that wound up with Vash in tears. The last time was the worst… the last time was what had wound them up as they were right now. A smiling doll with a broken interior, searching for the brother with so much resentment and anger, and the ghost of a priest that couldn't seem to find his way home to his God.

A doomed pair. Both lost, both without a clue, and both just moving because there was nothing else to do. Vash used his brother partially as an excuse, and partially as a reason. He was concerned for Knives, there was no doubt about that, but he knew that he could take care of himself. Perhaps not in the most peaceful, or loving way – at this thought Vash had to restrain a choked cough, causing the ghost to look at him with an arched dark brow – but out of trouble his brother did tend to stay. Unfortunately, Vash couldn't say the same about himself, which was where the excuse came to bare. Staying in one place, settling down and building himself a home was something that Vash had always wanted to do, however, his reputation as the Human Typhoon had significantly longer legs than Vash himself, and always either preceded him to any towns he might wish to linger within, or caught up to him not soon after he'd arrived. So, he was doomed to wander, and probably for another couple of centuries until his name and description vanished from all mouths and wanted posters (or he scarred his face to look like bread and died his coat another colour) - However unsavoury that last option happened to be, Vash found himself considering it more often as the months went by. What better excuse to blame his wandering upon than the search for his misbehaving brother?

Now Wolfwood… Well, Vash didn't know his reasons, or his excuses for not going wherever it was that he was supposed to go after he died - Wolfwood had never given voice to any of them. But sometimes, when there was nothing to do and nothing to look at he caught the ghost looking forlornly out at the rolling horizon, a lost expression on his face, and he wondered if Nicholas had any reasons at all. Sometimes his friend just seemed so… bewildered, as if he truly was not expecting to be left behind on Gunsmoke.

'_Maybe it's Hell._' He'd told Vash once, a few weeks after he'd begun to appear corporeal. '_The Lord knows I've done enough to end up there. Maybe it's full and this was the next best thing_.'

Vash hadn't said anything in reply. His throat had been too tight, and he had been still too choked up inside to have formed any sensible reply. Wolfwood's ghost must have picked up on that, because he'd grunted and given him a long, unwavering stare that Vash had been forced to break.

'_It was my choice, tongari, so shut up_.' He'd said, and that had been the end of it.

Vash sighed again, and on a breath of wind he heard the spirit beside him attempt the same. The air shuddered slightly, the temperature flickering between cool and temperate. The pressure lifted a little once again, and Vash knew that Wolfwood's ghost was calming down.

"The seed ships fell again." He offered.

He saw from the corner of his eye Nicholas turn his head to look at him. "The same as last time?" he asked.

Vash slowly shook his head. "They were swallowed by the sand. There were no people this time. No one got out."

"Hm," The ghost beside him mused. "Sounds like you're trying to hide something."

Vash, surprised, twisted his head to meet Wolfwood's gaze. "What?" He asked.

Wolfwood moved on the sand, turning to face Vash more fully, but leaving the sand behind, still in place. "I'm no dream-reader, tongari, but you've been taking responsibility for those ships coming down since it happened. Your dreams have been reflecting that. In this one the ships were buried. I see it as either you're hiding your guilt from yourself, or you're finally willing to let it go."

Vash stared at him for a few long moments, then turned his eyes once again to the horizon. "Maybe." He replied. There was a long minute of silence, then;

"Tongari, look at me."

Vash blinked, spared the ghost a glance, noticed the glittering of the moonlight on the sand beneath him, then looked quickly away again.

"No, I mean look at me, tongari. My eyes. Look me in the eyes."

Exhaling, Vash twisted his head again and slid his eyes over to Wolfwood, meeting Nicholas's expectant gaze with the hesitant one of his own.

"It wasn't your fault." The ghost murmured. "Millie doesn't blame you, Meryl doesn't blame you, and despite how he acts sometimes, this dead person here doesn't blame you, either. I can't account for everyone on this planet, but aren't we the ones that truly count? Aren't we the ones who matter the most? Aren't we the ones who know more about what happened than anyone else, and still say that it wasn't your fault? Hell, I can't even blame Knives, because I've been in his situation before. Tongari…" Vash's slipping gaze returned to the strength of Nicholas's. "Sometimes things go wrong, and often for the wrong reasons, but something right always comes out of them. Sometimes, when you lose, you win. Don't blame yourself anymore. You don't have to. You don't _need_ to. And what you're doing when you are, is wishing to take back ever meeting any of us."

At this Vash did break the gaze, the familiar pang and stinging pain shooting through him, along with the thought of; '_If I hadn't met you, you wouldn't be dead…_'

"Don't you dare, Vash."

The use of his name brought him out of it.

"I don't regret meeting you." A small smile worked its way across the face of Wolfwood's ghost. "…And would you _really_ want to live without me in your life?"

Vash surprised himself with a small, echoing smile. He shook his head minutely. No, no he wouldn't. Though Wolfwood was a ghost, and his death was still eating him up inside, if he had never met the priest with the rather loose morals… He would feel as though some part of him was missing again… He would be back to mourning it, and wondering what it was that was supposed to fit there.

"Go to sleep, tongari." The ghost said. "There's hours of night still left. Make it less uneasy."

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End Chapter One.

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**A/N**: _Well, it's off to a slow start, but hopefully it will pick up speed later. I've been rather quite busy lately so it's difficult to find time to write between my art assignments. Keep your fingers crossed for another chapter soon, though. It's already thawing in the microwave. Shudders It's just so cold down here in Christchurch... 'M freezing!_

Anyway, thanks to the reviewers **Trio-Spade**, '**Just Someone**', and **Foresythe** for the time they took to let me know what they thought about the prologue. Hope you found this chapter a little more informative. (Not by much, though. This thing pretty much writes itself.) The next one should be clearer...


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